Granddad was in the ICU when I arrived, and if I'm my parents and my grandmother sitting

in the waiting room, mom hugged me when she saw me, her tears making my shoulder soggy

almost at once. They wouldn't let her see him yet. Granddad, having just gotten out of

surgery, but the police were hoping to ask him some questions when he came too.

I asked what had happened to him, and mom said the officer she'd talked to hadn't had

a lot of information. Someone had run their car into his little car while driving to

Walmart and slammed him into a tree. The other car hadn't been at the scene, but they

had left Granddad there and they pulled off. Another driver had seen the wreck and called

an ambulance. As I sat in the waiting room, my parents I couldn't help but wonder if

this had anything to do with my prying. Granddad had put me in touch with Mr. Cromes.

A retired officer who'd warned me about the far-stretched influence of the warden.

Hadn't Cromes acted scared when he'd seen a fellow officer with Donald's lead day?

And surely, no one had done this to my grandfather, I'm in at his 60s, to send a message to

me. No one was that vindictive to hit one of their own.

The doctor came out as I was mulling it over and gave us a breakdown. Grandpa was awake,

but the painkillers they had him on were making loopy. He had a broken leg, a fractured arm,

and his collarbone had been mended with a couple of big metal screws. It lost a lot of

blood that they were hoping that he would recover. He suggested that we come back tomorrow

since they would try and step him down to a regular room if he did well tonight.

We left. Not really sure what to expect, but hopeful.

I didn't hear from Cromes for two weeks. When I did, he called to tell me that he would

meet me at a bar, on the next town. He sounded tired, and I wanted to ask if something had

...